My desk, from which I write this piece, is on the second floor of a home on the shore of Devils Lake that I share with my wife, 2 dogs and 6 chickens. We recently remodeled a bit and I was granted access to a room that heretofore had been held exclusively for our granddaughter.  But, since her dad has bought a place in town to live in, she stays there and comes here for day visits.

So, the room is now my office. After we moved a bed out and a desk with a chair in I sat down and looked out to the lake. Through the windows of this room it looked different. Same lake, same vista, same sky, but from this vantage point it has taken  on an almost spiritual dimension. It’s kind of funny how just a little change of viewing angle can change an entire focus.

And, oddly enough, It made me think of Disneyland. 

My first trip to the Magic Kingdom was as an adult along with my wife and two young boys. Two things struck me about Disneyland-first, the cleanliness and second, how visitor’s views throughout the park are controlled.  I first noticed this ocular manipulation while on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.  Seated in a car we entered the attraction, our vision forced by the confines of the car to look straight ahead.  As the ride continued, different scenes would appear directly in front giving us a few seconds to take in the visual information and then abruptly turn the car to face another scene and so on and so on until the end of the ride. The entire park is designed that way-keeping the guest’s eyes on whatever they want you to focus on (and usually with good cause and perfect planning).

So why the flashback to Disneyland?  Because ever since we bought the house, obviously, I’ve seen the lake. I’ve seen it from the front deck, the living room and the driveway. I’ve seen it from atop the roof, and from the backyard and the kitchen and, yes, from this very room I am discussing. Yet, sitting at my desk and looking out, the scene before me interrupted by nothing but two windows, the lake looks different.

It’s like Mr. Disney designed this room and the view from it to make me take in just this little slice and won’t let me focus on anything else.  It’s hard to turn away from it.

Then, dear readers, what is it that I see now from this new vantage point that I didn’t see before? Well, it depends if the window is open or not.  If the window is open, despite seeing a beautiful expanse of sky colored water, black, brown and green hills and flourishing flora I don’t seem to see as much as I hear. And my eyes are drawn to the sounds. The symphony of birds is inexhaustible and demand my attention; geese honk, doves coo, robins sing, crows squawk.  As the geese land on the water the sound of their beating wings is unmistakable. The doves land silently in trees or on the ground but take off in flight explosively.  I have a nest of swallows just below the porch roof that extends below my office window.  They flit and dive past continually and I can hear a light “swoosh” sound as they rocket past and change course five times in ten feet.

I hear people talking at the public dock. I can rarely make out what is being said. Most times it’s people fishing and the conversations are quiet until a fish is hooked. It’s easy to tell when someone has caught their first ever fish. Several times throughout the day the dock will host kids jumping into and swimming in the lake.  Their laughs, like the laughter from a school playground makes it difficult to not smile from the memories it invokes.

On a windy day I hear the American flag that is attached to a tall pole in the front yard flutter and flap. The rope that is attached to the flag and pole bangs against the aluminum with a “thwack, thwack” sound. 

This is the soundtrack to the cinema that unfolds before me.  

Yesterday I watched two otter swim out from their cover of water lillys. I knew they were there because they made a soft splashing sound as they entered the water. As I looked in the direction of the sound I could see the expanding ripples and gentle wake they left behind as they moved so smoothly and rolled effortlessly in the water. Then they dipped below the surface and were gone.

This new vantage point gives me a clear sightline to the aquatic plants off shore so I can watch the mama mallards lead their babies on their first journeys out of their nests (I have to say it’s sad to count the number of ducklings that disappeared over the following days). 

I’ve been blessed to watch six couples of geese bear a brood and raise them in our front yard.  One male goose arrived on our lawn last year-alone and with a broken leg.  I felt for sure he was doomed to either loneliness or death. But, like any good third act in a film, his leg healed enough for him to hobble about, a young lady goose took a liking to him and they produced 4 healthy goslings.

My views of mornings on the lake are particularly captivating. On any given day, when, atmospherically, things are just right, a line of misty fog will gather and spread across the hills on the opposite side of the water.  The line of white it creates cuts quietly through the dense green of the trees and gently spills out over the water where it collides with its warmth and begins to slowly rise and drift along the bank.  The water is reflectively still so I can see the fog, the clouds and the trees all at once and all I can do is stare. The frame of the windows, like a quality frame on a picture, enhances and directs the eye to what is important.

And like the end of a ride, there is silence. No birds calling, no breeze rustling branches.  No people talking about their day.  Just silence as the fog like a night of thick falling snow dampens every sound around and I’m forced, visually, to simply take in what is before my eyes and slowly breath it in and out.

C.S. Lewis in his book The Weight of Glory wrote;

“We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words-to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.”

I think that is what I’ve been trying to convey about this new view I have. Every time I look out through these two glass panes I see something that I want to “pass into, to receive it..to bathe in it (and) become part of it.” But I guess that’s what makes things beautiful isn’t it? The emotions that confirm that something otherworldly is happening before my eyes begging me to grab hold of it. But, like sunshine or fog, I can’t grab it. I can only stand back and exult in its presence.

Have a beautiful day.